Old Poodle
Old Poodle’s rather useless,
Like his step-brother also
Old beyond his breed’s
Allowance
But none too bright with too
Shrill a bark—fine with him,
Since his hearing’s hard
Looking to command him
Is a whimsical try, for he
Has cataracts thus can ignore
Any words he doesn’t want
To see
I think Old Poodle likes things
This way—no expectation
Presses, while his interests
(Not surprising, is it?) take
Away all other precedence
After all, anything not sensed
Can become preeminent
Useless, loud Old Poodle is a
Dear—‘til God wants him, we
Want him here
April 7, 2016 at 8:14 am
oh… your love for the old poodle is radiating powerfully in this poem. Especially that last stanza. ❤
April 10, 2016 at 11:07 pm
Yes, I love the poodle. While mischievous, he’s also unabashedly affectionate.
April 11, 2016 at 1:50 am
hahaha! mischief can be forgiven with affection. 😀
April 11, 2016 at 3:29 pm
Yep, it’s too easy to love dogs. Thank goodness!